I was pouting, and I knew it. I just couldn’t seem to erase the expression her bitter truth had inspired. “The product of years of practice, I guess.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to unlearn it, if for no other reason than to keep the workplace hospitable. You’re going to make the flowers sad with all your bad energy.”

I chuckled, picking up my shears again to avoid her eyes. “We can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t. Give him a chance—if not for the shop, for Mrs. Bennet. It’d kill her to think you hated him like you seem to.”

For a moment, I imagined the sadness and disappointment on her face if she knew I’d rather eat mulch than make nice with Luke, and my guts twisted against the sight. “All right,” I conceded, snipping a branch off. “I’ll try to be good. But if he pushes it, I swear …” I pointed my shears at her in warning.

“Hey, if he deserves it, all bets are off.”

“If who deserves what? And who’s getting stabbed with those shears?”

Luke’s voice set my spine straight as an arrow, my gaze snapping up to find him standing at the end of the table.

God, he was handsome, his jaw square and smattered with dark stubble. Those full, wide lips were constantly fixed at an irreverent tilt. His nose was as Roman as his name, with the slightest flat plane on the bridge, just enough to make him look rugged without interrupting the elegant lines of his brow and cheekbones. Crisp and bright were his eyes, sharp with wit and mischief.

He had been designed to entice and did so at his leisure. As easily as he lured you in, so easily would you be consumed.

And I had no desire to be consumed.

I blinked, realizing we had yet to answer. I found myself unable to fashion a response.

Ivy picked up that ball and ran, betraying me with a smile. “If you deserve a dressing-down, you’ll get one. And the shears too, if you’re not quick on your feet.”

“Ah,” he said, still smiling. “Well, I don’t think Tess minds dressing me down whether I deserve it or not.”

That made me both huff and swat away a flash of guilt. But before I could decide how to answer, he placed a pink box on the counter, revealing a paper caddy carrying two cups of coffee.

“Speaking of—” He set down the carrier and bowed ever so slightly in my direction. “I come bearing gifts of peace. Coffee,” he said, gesturing to the obvious, “and donuts.”

When he opened the box, Ivy and I leaned in.

“Blanche’s!” Ivy gasped, full-on clasping her hands to her chest. “Oh, tell me you got the lavender and lemon ones.”

“Is there any other kind?”

“No,” I said, smiling.

His eyes shifted to mine, catching them, holding them. His smile softened into something more sheepish, the effect making him look like the boy who’d once kissed me in the greenhouse.